Kindred Kid
She is wearing a magenta rain jacket with floral buttons. She’s probably in fourth grade, maybe fifth or sixth. She’s been watching me out of the corner of the eye … Continue reading
Crossing Guard
I’m waiting to cross the street, watching for a few hustling taxis to pass, when I feel a presence on my right. I instinctively move a bit to my left. I am … Continue reading
The Humbling Scenes: Part II
So I knew I couldn’t walk to my Turkish class, and would need another plan. I stared at a map and felt some vague hope that if I went to a … Continue reading
Mr. Independent
A little boy in a blue t-shirt acts tough, strong, fearless. He clutches a toy truck low at his side and eyes the passengers on the train. His father sees … Continue reading
Grasping at Grandmas
I’d been on a mission: to get old Turkish ladies to like me. I love elderly people, but I wasn’t getting a warm reception when I beamed at the grandmas. … Continue reading
Postcard for Addyson #1
Dear Addy, The two postcards I sent from Turkey took about 6 weeks to reach you. So I thought I’d send an update that would show up in Colorado before … Continue reading
Palms
Two small boys track the line of workers trimming the palm trees. The men in green jumpsuits stare up at the man-lift. The boys nod at each other with tight-lipped smiles … Continue reading
Macho Maço Man
He struts wide, pacing to both sides of the sidewalk as he walks. He thrusts his arms out, adjusting his button-up shirt on his frame, propelling himself forward with a … Continue reading
I Want To Tell You Something Beautiful.
After a few weeks practicing my Turkish with various strangers, I’m pleased with my progress–but overwhelmed by how much I still have to learn. Smiling helps. Smiling helps me make … Continue reading
Linger, Loiter
The pair meets in the Kültürpark, a space filled with palm trees, joggers, idle folks napping on benches, doing Sudoku on benches, staring into space on benches. A grandfather takes … Continue reading
Breakfast/Kahvaltı
I’m the only customer in the breakfast room at the hotel, and the chef comes from the kitchen to nod at my arrival. I cut straight for the coffee and … Continue reading
The Nice Thing About Strangers 